


can you build an emerald city with these grains of sand? (can you give me something I can take home?)

by congratsyouvegrownasoul



Category: The Sopranos
Genre: Backstory, Character Study, Copious Lasagna Consumption, Domestic Fluff, Excessive use of pet names, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Italian Mafia, Italian-American Character, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23952541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/congratsyouvegrownasoul/pseuds/congratsyouvegrownasoul
Summary: a boy, a girl, and a proposal
Relationships: Tony Soprano/Carmela Soprano
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	can you build an emerald city with these grains of sand? (can you give me something I can take home?)

He picks up the phone on the third ring, voice fuzzy and half-asleep.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s me. Sorry I woke you up, baby. I wanted to get you before you left for the day.” 

It’s a little before nine o’clock, so she had thought Tony would still be in bed, let alone in the house. She’d considered calling earlier, in case it was one of the days he was up at the crack of dawn and out doing God only knew what, but had decided against it. Thankfully, she’d predicted correctly. 

“Hi, Carm. Don’t worry about it, I should get going anyway. What’s up?”

“Not much. I just--are you free tonight? I want to come over and make you dinner.”

“Uh, trust me, for that I’d clear my calendar.” 

Carmela laughs a little, hearing him laugh too on the other end, a little puff of an echo. 

“No, seriously, that sounds great. Me and Pussy are supposed to go up to Poughkeepsie for a job today, but I should be back by dinnertime. You want to plan on seven, maybe? What’re you making?”

“I’m thinking lasagna. I’ll come over a bit earlier and put it in the oven, I’ve still got your spare keys.” 

“Sounds great. See you, then.”

“See you--”

“Hey, Carm! Don’t you have that paper due today, for the opera class?” 

“Yeah, I do. My Wagner essay.”

“Everyone else took all the Italians, huh?”

He laughs again. Carmela half-smiles, wrapping the phone cord around her finger.

“You’ll knock it out of the park, I bet.”

“Yeah, I guess. Thanks, Tony.”

“No problem, baby. See you tonight!”

The line clicks as he hangs up, and she lies on her bed for a moment, still clutching the phone in her hand, frowning a little. 

The essay is a mess, a rough draft she’d written the weekend before, with a few extra sources haphazardly pinned in last-minute. She’d meant to work on it all this week, but four days of waiting for her period had sapped her focus. After she’d found herself staring down at a positive pregnancy test the night before, Carmela had pretty much declared Wagner a lost cause. 

She feels a bit guilty about it--this was meant to be a fun class, on top of her junior-year business major onslaught of marketing and statistics. She likes the eccentric old professor, and she loves the music. But there are more important things than grades or impressing a teacher. 

She sighs, and sits up, putting the phone back on its receiver. Her nail polish has gotten chipped, she notices. Another thing to do today. Touch up her nails, make sure they have time to dry before she has to drive over to campus for class at noon, come home and fix the lasagna, bake a cake to surprise Tony, and figure out how she’ll present her other, more complicated surprise. No, there’s certainly no time to finish that essay.

The day goes by surprisingly fast, but the whole time she feels so strange, her insides bubbling with a weird giddy queasiness. It’s too early for morning sickness, so she supposes it must just be nerves. When she starts putting dinner together, Carmela stands in front of the open fridge for a solid minute, feeling the cold air on her face and trying to slow her breathing.

Once she gets down to it, the baking helps too. She has to keep her mind calm, focused on each little task at hand. Sift the flour, carefully measure out the vanilla, whip egg whites in the fancy new standing mixer Tony brought home for her out of the blue last month. 

Just as the requisite stiff peaks of meringue are starting to take shape, her mother walks in the kitchen door. 

“Oh, hello, Carmela. Will we have the pleasure of enjoying your cake tonight?”

“No, sorry. I’m going over to Tony’s for dinner, but I can try to bring back a couple pieces for you and Dad.”

“On a school night? Can’t you two wait until tomorrow?”

“My Friday class got cancelled, the professor’s ill,” Carmela lies, feeling a little flash of irritation. She’s twenty-one already, she’s not a child. She may technically still live at home, but she pulls her own weight and does most of Tony’s housekeeping on top of that. 

“Well, in that case…” Her mom waves a nonchalant hand, then scoops a couple of discarded eggshells off the counter.

“You know, I always say you should clean while you cook. It’ll make things much easier on you after supper. Anyway, you’ll never guess what Magdalena told me this afternoon.”

Ordinarily, Carmela can find at least a passing interest in secondhand gossip from her mother’s weekly canasta circle, but today she just nods and smiles through a convoluted story involving suspected embezzlement by a church sexton two parishes over. 

“Wow, that’s really crazy. What a wild situation.” 

“Isn’t it? I met him several times, his daughter went to school with your sister. You really never would have thought. To steal from a church!” 

“Just crazy,” Carmela murmurs, setting the oven timer. “Okay, Ma, I’m going to run and take a shower while the cake’s in the oven.”

“Oh! Alright.”

Her father arrives home from work while Carmela’s hauling the lasagna pan out to her car, almost ready to head out. She kisses his cheek, dashing off a quick hello but avoiding a hug.

“You’ve got sawdust all over you, Dad! Tony will think I’ve spent the day in a woodpile.”

He laughs, tells her he wishes she’d make lasagna for him more often, and kisses her again on her way out the door. 

The whole ride over, she keeps glancing over nervously at the cake, sitting delicately on its platter in the front passenger’s seat, crowned with a fluffy pile of frosting. It wobbles slightly whenever she halts for a stop sign, no matter how careful she is. Carmela’s driving like she’s already got a baby in the car, she thinks, laughing a little to herself. 

Tony’s Lincoln is in the garage at his house, but no one answers when she calls out, opening the door. Pussy must be driving the two of them today. She sets the cake on the counter, pulls off her coat, starts the oven to heat the pasta, and pulls a pack of string beans out of the fridge. 

It’s a nice little house, she thinks, glancing around as she melts a pat of butter to cook the beans in. Admittedly, the place could use some more feminine touches, like the checked curtains for the kitchen windows she’d put up for Tony a few months ago. She can put flowers on the table come spring, tulips and roses and carnations. Tidy up more regularly, get rid of things like the forlorn gym sock she can see lying next to the living room couch. 

Still, though, it’s a good thing Tony has his own place now. He’s been renting this house for a little less than a year, and it’s much better than when he was still living with his parents too. Carmela had spent months convincing him to move out. Sneaking around to have sex was one thing when they were in high school, but it felt ridiculous to still be regularly getting down to it in the backseat of her boyfriend’s car. She hadn’t told Tony the other, more important reason she wanted him to get his own place: she’d been in that house every other Sunday for family dinners since she was sixteen years old. Carmela hates seeing him like a cowed child with his mother picking at him constantly, or following his father around like a kicked puppy.

He was earning good money, he could afford to pay rent--she’d seen the several thousand dollars he had stuffed in a pillowcase under his bed. But he didn’t want to leave the family, run off like Janice. He needed to look after his mother, he had explained to her, and Barbara was still a kid and needed her big brother. 

Carmela had dug through the classifieds until she’d found a nice house for rent five minutes’ drive from his parents, marched him over there, and dangled the promises of easier access to sex and getting to watch whatever he wanted on television in front of his nose until he’d finally signed the lease. 

Yes, it’s a nice little house. Carmela’s been on enough of her dad’s construction sites to see when a place has good bones. Someday, they’ll have more, but it’s a place to start. 

It’s still ten minutes to seven when they arrive. The car horn blaring out front first, and then Tony throwing open the front door a few seconds later. Carmela switches the stove off so the beans don’t burn and then runs to the door.

“Hey, Carm, sweetheart, come say hi to Pussy!”

“Hi, Pussy,” Carmela calls from the doorway, giggling. Tony hooks his arm around her waist and pulls her up close to him.

Pussy waves at her from the street, the front window of his car rolled down. 

“You wanna stay for a bit?” Tony yells. “She’s making lasagna, it’s gonna be _so_ good.”

Carmela bites back her laughter, stomach sinking. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t mind making an extra plate for one of Tony’s friends, but she can’t handle that tonight.

“No, I shouldn’t, Ange will flip if I’m not home to help put the kids in bed. Another time, guys.”

“Bye, then!” 

Carmela waves as he starts the car, her smile floating back. Tony’s already distracted, leaning in to kiss her. 

“Definitely thought he’d say yes to your food.” He nuzzles her cheek, voice close in her ear. “He’s gotten real chubby lately. Angie’s been losing the baby weight and he’s finding it, I guess.”

He snickers. Carmela pulls away, arms crossed in mock pique.

“What kind of way is that to talk about your friend? What am I supposed to do with you?”

“Kiss me again, that’ll teach me.”

“Okay, fine, fine. You make a compelling argument.”

She laughs, pulling him along with her across the threshold into the house. 

After a minute, she breaks the kiss, catching his hands in hers. 

“Dinner first, you must be starv--oh, Tony, doesn’t that hurt?”

The knuckles on his right hand are all bruised, scratched up and bleeding in a few spots. 

He looks away from her, cheeks flushing. 

“It’s no big deal, I’ve had a lot worse. Hell, I had worse playing football, remember?”

“Take your coat off and go wash your hands. I’ll get you some Band-Aids.” 

Whoever he busted up his hand punching probably got a lot worse today, Carmela thinks grimly. But there’s nothing she can do about that, so she’ll put it out of her mind and focus on the things she can fix. 

“You made a cake!” Tony calls out from the kitchen as she’s fishing through the medicine cabinet. 

“It looks great!”

“Tastes good too, huh? I see you tried some already.” 

He grins at her and finishes licking frosting off his fingers.

“I didn’t mess it up or anything, it still looks nice. It’s lemon?”

“Lemon chiffon. Rosalie Aprile made it for Angie’s baby shower, and I asked her for the recipe. Ro’s a great baker.” 

Carmela had enjoyed herself at that party, even if she’s still getting to know the other girls, the wives of Tony’s work friends. She remembers a few of them from school, but they’d been a couple grades ahead of her and back then she hadn’t known them at all. She’d been very conscious, standing there eating her cake and chatting, that she was the only young woman in the room who wasn’t either pregnant or toting around a baby or toddler. She hadn’t realized how quickly that would change. 

None of her friends from high school have babies yet, and none of the girls she knows from college would even consider it any time soon. Charmaine thinks Artie might propose soon, once he’s done with culinary school. If he doesn’t, she had joked, she would do it herself. Still, though, for them all these things are firmly in the future. 

Angie and Rosalie and the other girls are nice enough, though, and there will be lots of other babies for hers to play with. Carmela resolves to ask Rosalie for more cake recipes. 

“Alright, take these and bandage yourself up. I’ll get the pasta out of the oven so we can get dinner started.”

She picks up two plates as Tony plops himself down at the table with a sigh, crinkling away at the Band-Aid wrappers. One plate gets a much bigger helping of pasta--Tony loves her lasagna--but the beans get distributed evenly. 

“You want milk or soda, sweetie?”

“Coke, please.”

Carmela pauses for a moment in front of the fridge, considering, then grabs a second can for herself. 

Aside from a couple complementary exclamations as he tucks in, Tony is pretty quiet at the table, content to focus on his food. Tonight, Carmela’s grateful for it. Most potential topics of conversation feel inane, ridiculous. 

_What did you do today, honey? Did you go all the way to Poughkeepsie just to beat someone up? What did I do today? Oh, I completely bombed a big paper, because I’m pregnant._

He slows down a little on his second helping, though, and gets more chatty. 

“Guess what? Me and Pussy saw a moose up in New York today! In the woods by the side of the road. Usually they’re further north, I think, so it was pretty cool. You ever seen one?”

“No, I haven’t.” 

“We were talking about maybe going camping at one of the state parks up there this summer.”

“Will Angie want him away that long?”

“He’s got to have fun sometimes, Carmela! But yeah, maybe just some fishing trips this year. When his boys get bigger, we can take them too, I guess.” 

Carmela bites her lip, suddenly feeling like she’s about to cry. Tony is _good_ with kids; she remembers him even back in high school running through the sprinkler in his front yard with his little sister, or chucking a football around with her little cousin and letting Chris tackle him. His friends’ toddlers always want to climb all over him, and it makes him laugh and laugh. He’ll be a good father. 

She lets Tony keep talking, clears away the empty plates and carries them to the sink, closes her eyes and lets his voice wash over her.

“We’ll go down the shore again, too, you and me. And to the lake...I’m thinking about buying a little motorboat this year, like the one my uncle Al’s got. Remember when we went skinny-dipping that one time?”

Carmela nods, laughing a little. 

“Let’s not do that again.”

“I was going to say we should!” 

He’s up from the table, rummaging around in the kitchen drawer and pulling out a knife to cut the cake.

“How big a slice you want, Carm?”

“You want cake right away? I thought we’d wait a little.” 

She’d thought it would be a good time to talk to him; her secret’s on the tip of her tongue. This conversation will go better with a full stomach and undistracted mind, though, so if he wants cake he should have it. 

“Okay, fine, cut me a piece. However much you’re having.” 

The cake, she thinks with a burst of pride, is genuinely very good. It’s not as prettily frosted as Rosalie’s, and she’s too anxious to properly savor it, but for someone who hasn’t baked much beside cookies and muffins, it’s quite an accomplishment. 

Tony compliments it effusively, then continues chattering about his summer plans and how much he’s looking forward to seeing her more once school’s over for the year. It’s not even spring yet, just a mild February, so he’s clearly very excited. She smiles, a little wistful. By summer, she’s probably not going to be up for much in the way of skinny-dipping or outdoors activity. 

“Fuck, that was good. You’re such a great cook.” 

He plops his fork down on the empty plate and pushes his chair back.

“I’m gonna go lie down on the couch, I’m so full.” 

Carmela looks up from her own half-finished cake, a bit alarmed. The last thing she needs is him taking a nap because she went overboard with dinner. 

“Don’t fall asleep, I need to talk to you.”

He’s already flung himself headlong across the sofa, but rolls over on his back, staring over at her, expression quizzical. 

“You _need_ to talk to me? What about?”

Carmela leaves the table, walks over and sits down on the rug in front of him, crossing her legs neatly. She suddenly feels a wave of guilt, like she’s baited him with treats and is about to spring a trap. 

“I don’t really know how to tell you this. Remember when we talked about maybe getting married next summer, after I graduated?”

He nods, still staring at her. She can’t read his expression. She swallows and pushes on. 

“Well, next summer isn’t going to work for us, because I’m having-- _we’re_ having a baby.” 

“When?”

His voice is so quiet and blank, it scares her a little. Perhaps she was presumptuous, perhaps he feels she’s forced his hand by bringing up the lighthearted conversations they’ve had about the future. But she has to know where he stands, if she’s going to get what she needs.

“Sometime this fall, I think maybe October. I haven’t had a chance to see a doctor yet.”

She grabs his hand, and is relieved when his fingers press back against hers, warm and strong. 

“Tony, I’m sorry this is coming out of nowhere, I wanted to do something nice for you tonight, I only just found out for certain yesterday--”

“Why would you be _sorry_? It’s a baby, it’s a good thing. And it’s not like it’s your fault--I mean, I could have pulled out more often, right?” 

He laughs, a little hysterical.

“Oh, holy shit, Carm, this is a lot. Oh, God, are you crying? Please don’t cry.”

Then he’s half-sliding, half-falling off the couch and putting his arms around her. Carmela buries her face in his shoulder and whimpers into his shirt. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.” 

“I just d-don’t feel ready, Tony.”

“You’ll be a great mother, ‘cause you’re so nice, and--” 

His voice sounds suspiciously choked up. Carmela doesn’t look up, still sniffling against him herself, but she throws her arms around him and holds tight. 

After a minute, they pull apart, both of them wiping their eyes. Tony avoids looking at her, pulling his legs up to his chest and resting his head back against the side of the sofa. 

“What’s wrong, honey? I know you don’t like talking about your feelings, but if we’re going to get married…”

“I pictured this different, is all. Maybe you did too, I don’t know. Maybe you used to clip pictures out of those bride magazines when you were twelve like my sister, only I bet you would actually buy them and Janice used to steal them because Ma thought they were stupid.”

Carmela stifles a snort of laughter and pats his shoulder, letting him ramble on and get wherever he’s going with this.

“You probably didn’t think you were going to be knocked up first, right? You were a good little Catholic girl, and you’re _smart_ , you’re in college. You probably didn’t expect any of this. I wanted to do that for you, all the bride magazine stuff. Not that I actually read Jan’s magazines, or anything, only a little bit to make fun of her. But I was going to wait and ask you when I could get a nice ring. Take you to the Plaza in the city and buy you champagne and what the fuck ever they eat in a fancy restaurant, and a ring like a movie star. I’m supposed to be able to provide for you how you want. How you deserve.” 

“You can still get me a big ring, Tony, I’m certainly not going to say no to that. But I understand what you’re saying. I would have pictured something a little different too.” 

He huffs, rubbing his face anxiously. 

“I want you to be happy about marrying me.”

“Jesus, Tony, you think I’m not happy? I knew I wanted to marry you since....senior year of high school, probably. I didn’t want to actually get married _in_ my senior year of high school, but I wanted it to be you. And it’s the same now. It’s a bit earlier than I thought, and the circumstances aren’t perfect, but we can still have a nice wedding even if it’s rushed. I can go back and finish school later, I guess. But I want to be your wife _now_ , I want to have your babies, I promise.”

She gets a smile from him then, a big genuine smile, like she hasn’t seen since he was eating his dinner what seems like a million years ago. 

“I want it to be you, too.” 

He rests his head on her shoulder, tension draining out of his body. The slight curls of his hair are soft against her cheek, tempting her to run her fingers through it. 

“You know, I’m probably going to be a made man soon. Maybe a couple years. I’m a good earner already, but then we can move somewhere nice, with a pool, maybe. When I’m made, I’ll treat you like a princess. The baby, too. She can have whatever she wants.”

“She?” Carmela laughs, and kisses his cheek. “You want a little girl, huh?”

“Well, I guess I was picturing one ‘cause of having a little sister.” 

“That’s so sweet.” She kisses him again. “I love you.”

He makes a happy little hum into her mouth. 

“I love you too, baby. And I love _you_ , my other baby.” He kisses his fingertips and reaches down to touch her stomach, and Carmela smiles. 

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired to write this because it's so clear in the show that at one point these two were absolutely madly in love with each other, and you can still see that slipping out every once in a while, but a lot of other things have gotten in the way. So I wanted to write something looking back at that love while also examining some of the dynamics and circumstances that have shaped their marriage since the beginning. Hope it's been a good read for others, it was an emotional write for me.
> 
> Title is from "I'd Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)" by Meat Loaf, of all people, because it seemed fitting.


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